Chapter 10: Bloodroot Peak
The sun rose behind the distant mountains, casting golden light upon the jade roofs of Heavenly Sky Sect. But on the outermost edge of its vast territory, far from the bustling pavilions and training halls, a single figure stood atop a lonely crag.
Tham Duong gazed at the landscape below — endless forests, cascading waterfalls, and jagged stone ridges coiling like a sleeping dragon.
"This will do."
He placed a carved jade token into the ground, infused it with spiritual essence, and activated a sealing formation. Within moments, a faint hum echoed through the land. A dome of invisible energy settled over the peak like a protective shroud.
It was no longer nameless.
From this moment on, it would be called Bloodroot Peak.
"I thought you wanted to stay low-profile," Minh Tử said, panting as he scrambled up the slope behind him.
Duong turned, his eyes calm. "Low-profile does not mean invisible."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it basically the same?"
"No," Duong replied. "One is hiding. The other is... choosing when to be seen."
With the formation active, they began the real work.
Duong etched talismans around the perimeter. Minh Tử fetched water from the spring below, cleared out nesting spirit beasts, and built the first training dummies from stone and reinforced wood.
By nightfall, a crude but functional cultivation ground had taken shape.
Duong placed Huyết Ảnh into the center of a stone altar.
From it, waves of silent aura suppression spread across the land — an unseen deterrent to spirit beasts, wandering disciples, or unwanted guests.
Bloodroot Peak was no longer defenseless.
It was a statement.
Three days passed.
By then, rumors had begun to stir within the sect.
"Someone's claimed the Northern Ridge?"
"I heard it's a new Inner Disciple."
"They say his sword hums in the dark."
"Some say he walks with ghosts."
The gossip was still whispers — but that would soon change.
On the fourth morning, as Tham Duong meditated atop the altar, a scroll appeared in midair — glowing with the insignia of the Core Disciple Council.
He opened it.
"You are hereby summoned to partake in the Internal Disciples' Challenge three days from now. Venue: Skyblade Arena."
Minh Tử leaned over his shoulder. "That's a big deal, right?"
Duong nodded. "It's how Inner Disciples challenge each other for position. Influence. Territory."
"And if you win?"
"You gain official recognition. Access to spirit mines. Your own alchemy quota. Recruitment rights."
Minh Tử's eyes widened. "So… we could grow."
Duong smirked.
"No. We could build a faction."
Three days later.
The Skyblade Arena roared with noise.
Hundreds of disciples — both inner and outer — crowded the stands. Golden-robed elders watched from their high pavilions. Even a few Core Disciples had come, their gazes indifferent but piercing.
Duong stepped onto the circular platform of polished obsidian.
Across from him stood a towering youth with bronze skin, twin axes strapped to his back, and muscles that rippled like iron cables.
"Hoang Tieu Lạc," someone whispered.
"Third-ranked among Inner Disciples."
"He's killed spirit beasts with his bare hands."
Hoang grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"So you're the little ghost boy with the cursed sword?"
Duong said nothing.
"You look soft. I'll break your bones quick. No hard feelings."
Duong still said nothing.
A bell rang.
The fight began.
In an instant, Hoang surged forward, swinging one axe like a comet.
The force alone cracked the arena floor.
But Duong had already moved.
Wind-Walking Steps.
A blur of motion. He appeared behind Hoang like smoke.
Hoang twisted, launching his other axe—
Duong raised a single hand.
Thorn Pulse.
A red sigil exploded from his palm, slamming into Hoang's chest and sending him skidding back, coughing blood.
The crowd gasped.
"He used a blood art! That's restricted—"
"No, look at the runes — it's self-formed!"
"Impossible! Blood arts are taboo!"
From the observation pavilion, one elder narrowed her eyes.
"He created a new technique… through blood resonance?"
Another elder beside her grunted. "That's not just talent. That's madness."
Back in the arena, Hoang stood, eyes burning.
"You think I'll fall from one hit?!"
He activated his spirit weapon — twin axes glowing with earthen light.
The air trembled.
Duong drew Huyết Ảnh.
For a moment, the sun dimmed.
The arena fell silent.
Then the sword screamed.
A single cut.
Hoang's axes shattered.
His armor cracked.
He flew backward, unconscious before he even hit the wall.
Silence.
Then chaos.
The arena erupted in noise.
"He won?! Just like that?!"
"Did you see that sword technique?"
"What was that aura—was the sword alive?"
In the pavilion, a Core Disciple finally stood.
A woman in silver robes, face masked, eyes glinting with cold amusement.
"Interesting," she said. "This one… might survive longer than the rest."
Another voice — this one male, with an aristocratic tone — replied, "Or he'll burn out faster."
The masked woman smiled.
"We'll see."
That night, Duong returned to Bloodroot Peak.
On his desk lay a new scroll.
"By decree of the Inner Council, Tham Duong is granted independent territory rights and leadership status under the Sect's Minor Faction Charter."
It was official.
He could now take disciples.
Form alliances.
Issue challenges.
And be challenged in turn.
Minh Tử danced around the room. "We did it! We're official! What should we call the faction?"
Duong stood at the balcony, watching the stars.
Then he whispered:
"The Crimson Path."
Minh Tử blinked. "Sounds… scary."
"It's meant to."
Down below, far beyond the sect's lands, in the heart of a black forest, an ancient beast lifted its head.
Its eyes gleamed red.
And deep in its mind, it remembered a scent.
The scent of a sword.
The scent of blood.
The scent of Huyết Ảnh.
And it began to move.